


He Who Fights Monsters

by Ruuger



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Episode: s01e23 Red John's Footsteps, Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuger/pseuds/Ruuger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The events of "Red John's Footsteps" in an AU where Lisbon is a hunter and Jane is an actual psychic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Who Fights Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> For those not familiar with The Mentalist, [this is the scene that the fic is based on](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tq765YZV5l4).
> 
> Thanks to bubblesbrnaid for the beta.

Lisbon huddled in the shadows behind the old farmhouse, trying to keep as still and quiet as possible. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes. They'd agreed she'd wait for twenty before going in, unless he gave her the signal. 

She waited for five more minutes until her nerves got the better of her. Signal or no signal, he should have finished already.

When she stepped inside the farmhouse, her eyes were immediately drawn to the open cellar hatch on the floor. Dim light filtered through the floorboards, and she could hear a low murmuring from beneath, like quiet chanting. With a last deep breath to calm herself, she took out her knife and raised the hatch. 

As she made her way down the rickety stairs, she found herself gripping the handle of the Bowie knife, her thumb idly rubbing the engravings like the beads of a rosary. It took her eyes a while to adjust to the low light, but when they did, the first thing she saw was Jane. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of a summoning circle, looking straight at her, but his eyes were unseeing, focused on something beyond her vision. For a second she wondered if he'd been spelled or drugged, but then she saw the tendrils of inky black darkness behind his eyes.

Her breath caught, adrenaline spiking in her veins. He was doing a summoning. The plan they'd agreed on had been for him to get Hardy talking, and maybe reveal something that might help them trap Red John, but clearly Jane's real plan had been something completely different.

Across the room she could see Hardy, or what was left of him. He was still more or less human, but his features were off, like an ill-fitting rubber mask. His head was longer, almost like that of an animal, with a mouth full of needle-sharp teeth, and his eyes were sunk deep in their sockets. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Hardy noticed her and turned around, his eyes burning bright yellow in the darkness. He let out a deep, inhuman growl and lunged at her.

In the fraction of a second before he reached her, she noticed the large bag of salt that someone - probably Jane - had placed conveniently on the shelf next to the stairs, and hurled it at Hardy with all her strength. The bag burst as it hit Hardy's face, and he reared back with a howl of pain, clawing his face as the salt burned him. Lisbon took advantage of his temporary distraction and with adrenaline-fueled strength and speed crossed the space between them and buried her knife in his chest. 

A flash of pain travelled through her arm at the impact, but she put her entire weight on the knife, feeling as much as hearing the wet crunch of bones as the blade tore through Hardy's ribcage. Finally the fire behind his eyes died and he fell to the floor, almost taking her down with him before she managed to wrench the knife from his chest. Panting from exhaustion, she gave the body one more kick to make sure it was really dead, and then turned to Jane. 

He was still sitting cross-legged at the centre of the now-broken circle, but his head was bowed and his body was completely still. From this distance, she couldn't even tell if he was breathing. Gripping the handle of her knife, she approached him carefully.

"Jane?"

She felt the band of fear around her chest tighten as he remained still. 

"Jane?" she repeated, carefully touching his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Finally he stirred, sitting up with a sudden gasp of breath, as if he'd just woken from a nightmare. He looked up, confused, and it took him several seconds before his eyes focused on her.

"What happened?" she asked.

Jane's voice when he finally spoke was hoarse, like he'd been screaming. "He was here. He was right here." He rubbed a hand across his face, and then looked at her, his expression blank. "You should have waited. We agreed on that." 

He struggled to stand up, and Lisbon took his arm and gently pulled him to his feet. 

"And what if Red John had possessed you?"

"Then you would have killed him," he said, calmly, nodding towards the Colt strapped to her hip. 

His words stunned her, and for a moment she was only able to stare at him. "You'd be dead, too," she finally said.

His gaze didn't waver. "But you would've had Red John."

She shook her head, refusing to accept what he was suggesting. "I don't think you mean what you say. I think you'd choose life."

He just shrugged. "Well, you think wrong."

Not for the first time she was reminded of her father, consumed by his obsession to find the demon who'd killed her mother. He'd had that same look in his eyes, the same despair. She took a step forward until she was right in front of Jane. "No, you think wrong. Can't you see that there's people who care about you, who needs you? You're being selfish and childish and I want you to stop." 

He gave her a small smile, as if she'd just said something amusing. "I wish that I could, but some things you just can't fix." When she remained silent, he gently touched her shoulder. "You needn't be angry. It's just the way of the world." 

Lisbon wanted to argue with him, but she knew that it would be useless, just like it had been useless with her father. She pushed away the memories and fears that seeing Jane like this had brought forward, and forced herself to focus on the present.

"Maybe we can still get something useful out of Hardy," she said, turning to look at the demon's body.

But the floor behind her was empty.

She instinctively reached for her knife, but Hardy was faster, and she didn't even have time to shout a warning at Jane when the sheriff-shaped demon suddenly rose from the shadows and lunged at her. She lost her balance when he collided with her, and they tumbled to the ground, Hardy on top of her. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and she was vaguely aware of the clattering sound of her knife falling on the floor. As a last desperate act she reached for the Colt, but it too was gone.

Hardy's face, only inches from her, had lost all semblance of humanity, torn skin and sinew falling off in strips, revealing the chitinous visage of the true demon underneath. His fingers were gone; in their place were long, sharp claws that burrowed into her shoulders as he pressed her to the ground. 

She tried to push him off her, but he was too heavy, and she was barely even able to keep his teeth away from her neck.

Suddenly Hardy's growls were drowned by the deep boom of a gunshot, which filled the small basement room with noise. Warm ichor splattered her face and Hardy went lax, collapsing on top of her.

After a few more seconds to collect herself, Lisbon used the the last vestiges of adrenaline to push the dead body off herself, and shakily rose to her feet. 

When she turned, she saw Jane standing a few feet in front of her. He was staring at her, his face pale, his breath coming in harsh gasps. When he looked down, she followed his gaze to see that he was holding the Colt. For a moment he just stared at it, like couldn't understand why he was holding it. She knew what he was thinking. It had been the last bullet left in the Colt. The one they'd been saving for Red John. 

He threw the Colt away as if it had burned him, and knelt on the floor, pressing his hand on the bloody wound on Hardy's chest. Not for the first time Lisbon wondered if this was it, if this was that last straw that was going to break him and send him back into the white padded room where she'd found him.

"Maia."

His voice roused her from her thoughts. She'd completely forgotten the girl they'd come to rescue.

"Is she..."

"Alive, yes." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hands still pressed against Hardy's chest. "There's a heavy metal door. Somewhere nearby. Maybe a sub-basement." He opened his eyes again. "She's scared, but unharmed. He didn't touch her."

After one final look at the body, Jane finally stood up, wiping his bloodied hands on his vest. He was swaying, like he was only seconds away from collapsing, but when Lisbon reached to support him, he slipped from her grasp. 

In the shadows his eyes were dark, but still human, and a chill ran down her spine as she remembered the oily-black darkness she'd seen reflected in them.

"I'll wait outside," he said, and climbed the stairs back to sunlight. 

\---

It didn't take Lisbon long to find Maia. There was a heavy metal door at the other side of the room, just like Jane had seen. She found the key stashed on top of the doorframe, and opened the door with one hand clutching her cross and the other one her knife, half-dreading what she might find on the other side.

But Jane had been right, as usual, and Maia was scared but unharmed.

She helped the girl up the stairs and back into the bright sunlight outside the barn, feeling an unexpected sense of relief when she found Jane waiting for them. He was leaning against the Citroën, peeling an orange that he'd managed to conjure from somewhere. Lisbon helped Maia into the car, and then walked to Jane. He ignored her, continuing to peel the orange.

She wanted to shout at him, to ask him what the hell he'd been thinking, but she knew it wouldn't be any more use than the dozens of fights she'd had with her father. 

"We saved a girl's life, Jane," she said instead.

He smiled, but there no joy in that expression, only sadness. "Yes, we did. Hooray for us."

He finished peeling the orange and looked up, watching at her in that strange, solemn way that always made her wonder if he was reading her mind. He'd promised her not to do it, but she knew that it was something that he couldn't always help. 

"Hunting monsters changes you," he finally said. She didn't need to ask if he meant himself as well. 

"It doesn't have to."

He split the orange in two and tossed her the other half.

"You're sweet," he said, and slipped into the driver's seat.


End file.
